My Wife's Convention Adventure Ch. 01

1. A Night Out on the Town

It was in early January and we'd just been to a concert at the Davies Symphony Hall, where we sat through some modern compositions I hope I never have to listen to again in my whole life. Afterwards we drove over the hill to North Beach to console ourselves in a less pretentious atmosphere.

Since moving to San Francisco and having more leisure time, we've tried to get a lot more "culture." And we've actually enjoyed much of what we've encountered. But the fact is both Nancy and I have a lot of lowbrow in us.

After walking around for a while, we stopped in at a bar on upper Grant Street. It was pretty crowded and a blues duo was playing in the back. Nancy found an empty bar stool, removed her full-length coat, draped it over the stool, and sat on it. I had to stand behind her stool because there weren't any others available. I noticed that several guys, apparently drunk enough not to care that I was with her, openly checked her out.

No wonder. Nancy, overdressed for this place, looked gorgeous. She'd put on a simple black dress that was cut rather low and came down mid-thigh. Under it she'd worn a pair of pantyhose. This was unusual for her, but she said pantyhose made wearing high-heeled shoes more comfortable.

The first thing her ogglers probably noticed when she took off her coat was the (imitation) pearl necklace that reached down into her cleavage. They called attention to the inner orbs of her smaller-than-average breasts. She was braless, of course, and her breasts – their nipples prominent beneath her dress's thin material -- bounced enticingly with every little motion she made.

We got the bartendress's attention and were served a glass of wine (for her) and a beer (for me). Nancy sat with her body turned slightly away from the bar. Holding her drink, she looked toward the back of the bar where the blues duo was playing. Standing next to her, I looked down and noticed that she was showing a lot of leg. Her dress had crept way up her thighs and her knees were spread more than twelve inches apart. For stability, I suppose, she'd hooked her high heels under the rail of her bar stool.

Since nearly everyone in the bar was facing the same way she was, though, I didn't notice anyone trying to look between her legs. Not at first, at least. As the band ended a song and people hooted and applauded, a bearded guy in his forties sitting at a table in front of us looked back, caught sight of my beautiful wife sitting there with her open legs at his eye level, and did an almost comedic double-take. He was only about six feet away from her, so (despite the rather poor light) he must've had a pretty good view up her thighs, probably all the way to her crotch.

I'm not sure his eyes went there immediately, though. At first, I suspect, he was simply surprised to find someone looking like her in the bar. An elegant, beautiful blonde sitting among dressed-down blues aficionados really stood out. The amount of skin she was showing was a bonus, of course.

Her breasts were partially covered (except, hovering over her, I could see all of her left breast except for the nipple), but she was obviously braless. Because of the careless way she was sitting, though, it was her inner thighs and crotch that drew the poor man's attention.

After a few seconds, he turned away and said something to another guy sitting at the table with him. Then he turned his head back around to see if the view he'd just been offered was still available. It was. Holding her position, Nancy was looking up at me and saying something about the duo. I bent down to her and whispered, "There's a guy looking up your dress, my love."

She didn't look around to see who her voyeur was. Instead, she asked me, "Is he good looking?"

"Not especially," I answered.

She held her position and directed her attention back toward the duo, who had started another song. Everyone else sitting near us, except the two guys sitting at the table in direct eye-shot of my wife's crotch, were looking toward the back, too. The bearded guy, who didn't want to seem too obvious, I suppose, had moved his chair slightly so that he didn't have to swivel his head a full 180 degrees to look between the blues duo and my wife's crotch. His friend, a bald guy who seemed drunker and more reckless, leaned forward and blatantly stared up Nancy's dress.

"I see there are two of them," said Nancy soto voce. "Too bad I've got pantyhose on."

She'd managed to check them out while showing apparent interest in the musicians.

"You can always take them off," I suggested.

"Sure, but could we go somewhere else? I'll take them off there. This place is too crowded, anyway. And I'm not that crazy about the music."

I agreed with her and we left a few minutes later, leaving her admirers disappointed. On the way up Grant Street, on the way to a bar I remembered liking on Green Street, we talked about what we might do next.

Her minor exhibitionism in the blues bar had given me an idea. "You really look sexy tonight. Would you like to push it beyond showing off? Are you up for the wronged wife routine?"

Instead of answering me directly, she stopped and frowned at me. Then she exclaimed (not too loudly, though), "You cheating scum! How dare you screw your secretary! And I've given you the best years of my life!" She couldn't keep a straight, or rather an angry face, though, and dissolved into laughter.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said. We resumed walking arm-in-arm up to Green Street.

Nancy tried getting back into the stereotype: "I'm so mad at you (well, not you, Cal, but my 'husband') that I need to do something to restore my battered self-image as a sexual being. Gosh, I wonder what it'll be. How's this? Maybe I'll take off my pantyhose to make myself more interesting to men."

"That's a non sequitur," I said, "but I like it."

She stopped walking and quickly stepped out of her high-heeled shoes. Then, opening her coat and pulling up her dress, she gripped her pantyhose at the top and quickly pulled them down to her feet. Next, bending down as she leaned against me, she freed her feet from the pantyhose, scooped them up, and tucked them in one of her coat pockets.

Stepping back into her shoes, she said, "I guess I can put up with a little foot discomfort for the sake of a few cheap thrills."

A group of four people, two men and two women, had stopped across the street to watch Nancy taking off her pantyhose. I screened her from them as best as I could by standing close to her, but I think they could tell what she was doing. One of the guys gave us a big smile.

I smiled back and waved. Then we proceeded to the bar, called Gino and Carlo's, and split up just outside the front door. I watched her enter the bar then walked back down Grant Street to another bar to kill a little time. I didn't order a drink there but went back to the men's room to take a piss. I went back outside then and walked around a little more. I wanted to give Nancy a chance to establish herself as an unattached women. Finally, at about 11:00 p.m., I entered Gino and Carlo's.

The place wasn't as crowded as it might've been for a Friday night. There were several knots of people, mostly, I think, men between thirty and fifty. They were talking, drinking, and laughing. The several women who were in the bar seemed loosely attached to some of the men, but it was far from a couples crowd.

Nancy was sitting at the bar, toward the back near the pool table (where no one was playing just then), with a glass of wine in front of her. The bartender, a tall guy in his forties, was leaning forward on his elbows talking rather intently to her. I found a stool about ten feet from where she sat and tried to get his attention. I finally caught his eye and he walked down the bar to serve me. As he got me a beer, Nancy flashed me a quick smile before facing forward and taking a sip from her glass. She was officially ignoring me.

She'd taken off her coat and laid it on the bar in front of her. The bartender was soon back talking to her. Again he leaned forward on his elbows. He was staring into her face as though trying to become rather too quickly intimate with her. He wasn't bad looking, but I could see that he was making Nancy uncomfortable.

A few minutes later, as the bartender had to leave the bar to do something in a back room, Nancy fell into a less intense conversation with a guy sitting just to her left. About a minute later, just as the bartender returned behind the bar, she picked up her coat and drink and walked with the guy to a table near the front of the bar.

I'm pretty sure Nancy instigated the move. The bartender had become way too possessive.

The bartender actually glared at them as they sat down together, and for a moment I thought he might cause a scene of some kind. I didn't think the guy with Nancy would've been a physical match for him, so I hoped nothing like this happened.

As for the guy my wife was sitting with, he looked to be in his thirties, had curly dark hair, and wore glasses. He was pretty short and weighed maybe 160 pounds. Dressed in a tie and jacket, he looked like a mild-mannered accountant.

I decided to listen in on what they were saying. So, carrying my beer, I wandered over near them and pretended to be interested in some photos on the wall.

Nancy had launched into her sad story of betrayal. Her husband, I overheard her say, was in town at a convention and she flew over from Salt Lake City to surprise him.

Big surprise! She caught him with his secretary. There he was, smooching with her in the hotel bar. She didn't confront him, except deviously by having the front desk send her small bag upstairs to his room, but called an old college friend of hers asking to be put up. The friend was out of town (visiting her parents in San Jose, my wife elaborated unnecessarily) but told Nancy that she could crash at her house in the downstairs guest room. She'd be back on Sunday and would see Nancy if she was still there. She was to make herself at home.

Then, suddenly acting drunk, Nancy said she'd need a taxi to get to her friend's house. The guy asked her where her friend lived and Nancy said she had the address in her purse, which was in her coat. Standing up, she picked up her coat, pulled her purse out of the same pocket in which she'd stashed her pantyhose, and began rifling through it.

As she stood bending over the table clumsily going through her purse, a wonderful thing happened. Her pearl necklace dangled straight down over the table and her dress top gaped wide open. Glancing down from where I stood just behind the guy she was with, I could clearly see her entire right breast, including a beautifully erect light-pink nipple. The guy had an even closer view.

Finally, after going through her purse (and giving her new friend a sustained view of her naked breast) for almost a full minute, Nancy seemed to give up. "I can't find it right now," she said, sitting back down in her chair. "I'll have to phone Debbie again and get it. I stayed at her place once before, but I forget how to get there."

Asking the guy to watch her coat, she picked up her purse and walked to the women's room in the back of the bar. She obviously wanted him to think she was going to call her friend from there. I noticed, as she made her way to the bathroom, that the bartender watched her with the same angry expression on his face he'd had fifteen minutes earlier.

Meanwhile, a chair became available near my wife's table and I sat down in it. It was easier to eavesdrop while sitting down than when hovering.

A few minutes later, Nancy returned to her table and showed her companion a slip of paper with an address (ours) written on it. "I called her in San Jose. Fortunately, she was still up."

The man looked at the address and said he'd have to ask someone how to find it, but he was willing to give her a ride there. His rental car was less than a block away. Would she like a lift?

She didn't commit to him right away. Instead, she asked him some questions. She (and I listening in) learned that he was in town for a sports trainers' convention. He worked as a trainer at some college in Idaho. He was recently divorced.

He asked her if she'd like another drink. She said she wasn't sure the bartender would serve her one without being nasty about it. He'd bought her two earlier and seemed to think that gave him a right to her. Maybe if they went somewhere else?

Then the guy said something surprising: "We can do that [go somewhere else, he meant] if you like, but I don't mind getting us a drink here. If the guy behind the bar wants trouble, I can give it to him. Not to boast, but I'm a black-belt and a former marine."

Really? I looked more closely at the guy. He wasn't big, but he did appear to be in good shape. First appearances could be deceiving.

"Let's go somewhere else close by for one, OK?" said Nancy. "I'd really like to avoid a scene. And, by the way, Debbie gave me instructions on getting to her house. I think I can guide us there."

So they finished their drinks and walked out of the bar together. I followed them out and watched them walk down Green Street to Columbus. Then they walked a half a block until they found another bar. I watched them through the window as they sat down together at a table. A girl took their order.

Standing on the sidewalk, I had to decide what to do. The guy seemed relatively safe. But, I recalled, so did Ted Bundy. His car was close by, he'd said. So was ours. Would it be possible for me to follow them home and make sure he wasn't dangerous? I decided to get our car and drive it back near the bar where they were.

So I parked the car in a no parking zone across Columbus Street from the bar where Nancy and her companion were. I thought that if I was in the car it would be all right. The cops might tell me to move on, but nothing more serious would happen.

I couldn't see them from the car, so I got out and quickly crossed the street to look in the window. There they were, apparently just finishing their drinks. In fact, Nancy was standing up and the guy was getting ready to help her on with her coat.

So I went across the street again and got back into the car so I could keep an eye on the front door of the bar. Minutes later, Nancy and the guy emerged and started walking down Columbus Street toward Washington Square. I turned the car around and followed them down the street a block or so below the square where the guy had parked his rental car. He'd gotten cozy enough with my wife to place his arm over her shoulder as they walked. Equally cozy with him, she sort of leaned into him.

I drove past them slowly as he was opening the passenger-side door and watching her climb into the seat. I couldn't be sure, but I guessed she was giving him a good look up her dress. This is something she's really good at.

I watched the guy pull out of his parking space and head back up Columbus Street. He then took a right turn on Broadway and headed toward the tunnel. I fell in behind him, of course. When he made a left turn on Franklin, I knew was heading in the right direction.

2. Nancy Brings Home a Friend

Figuring they were going directly to our house, I sped up and overtook them. I wasn't going to go inside the house, but I wanted to be there when they arrived. I found a parking space about 200 yards away and quickly ran there. Puffing slightly, I hid in the bushes just to right side of the house and waited.

I knew that Nancy would take him to the guest room, which is on the ground floor and faces the back yard. There is a missing slat in the blinds that offers a perfect view of the room. [I made good use of this missing slat in a recent adventure called "My Wife and the Teenager."]

About five minutes later, I noticed headlights approaching. Was it them? I felt my cock twitch in my pants because I knew it probably was. Seconds later (yes!) the guy pulled his car up into the driveway. Peering around the side of the house, I watched Nancy leaning toward him. There was enough illumination from the street light for me to see that they were in a full embrace.

This meant one of two things. Either he was just dropping her off and kissing her good-night (his engine was still running) or they were getting very excited. The enthusiasm of the kiss inclined me to the second interpretation. And when he killed the engine I knew I was right.

The guy got out and walked around the car to open her door. From my perspective I had a good view of her climbing out of the car. As I suspected she would, she threw her legs wide open and flashed her naked cunt at him for several seconds as she started to get out. Since the car was rather low, he reached down and gave her a hand up.

Once standing, she fell into his arms and they kissed deeply again. Breaking away from him, she looked around briefly. Was she looking for me? Was she worried about what a neighbor might think? We hadn't discussed this part of the sex game.

Thinking (probably) that either I was hiding somewhere or that I hadn't yet arrived, Nancy pretended to find the key under the door mat and opened the front door. Clutching her coat and purse under her arm, she entered the house and the guy followed her inside. Walking around the side of the house, I saw the light in the kitchen go on. The guy stood behind her as she opened the refrigerator, pulled out an open bottle of wine, and put it on the table.

"Can you find some glasses?" I heard her ask him. "I have to go to the bathroom." Saying this, she opened the door to the guest room and switched on the overhead light. She did something with her coat and purse then went into the bathroom, which was only about three feet inside the guest room.

The guy located two glasses, poured wine into them, and sat down at the kitchen table. As he sipped his wine, he looked through the open guest room door at the closed bathroom door.

A few minutes later, Nancy came out of the bathroom and instead of returning to the kitchen moved out of his (and my) view into the guest room. "I'll be there in a minute," I heard her shout to him.

I decided this might be a good time to phone her and find out exactly what was going on. So I called her cell. When she answered pretended to be talking to her friend in San Jose. Then, in a quieter voice, she said, "He thinks my friend's significant other – I decided to call him Bob -- is coming home either late tonight or tomorrow morning. So he knows he can't stay long, especially if he's going to park in the driveway. Where are you?"

I told her I was just outside the kitchen window.

"So, you're going to watch what happens through the guest room window, right?" she asked.

I said I would.

Then she rang off, saying, "I'll try to make it good. I love you."

While I was talking to my wife, the guy took off his sports coat and laid it over one of the kitchen chairs. Looking through the kitchen window at him, I got a better idea of what he was like physically. He had broader shoulders than I at first thought he had. And it didn't look like he had an ounce of fat on him.

Nancy returned to the kitchen as he sat back down at the table. She had taken off her shoes but still had her dress (and, both of us guys knew, nothing else) on. Picking up her glass of wine, she had him push his chair away from the table so she could sit in his lap. She sat sideways, with her right arm over his shoulders and her bare legs facing the kitchen window through which she knew I was watching.

She gave him another kiss and he immediately brought his right hand up to and inside the top of her dress. He was soon fondling both of her breasts.

She broke the kiss and said, "Too bad my cheating husband can't see another man playing with his wife's tits. Maybe it would teach him not to take me for granted."